


Sum of My Parts

by violet_scythe



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_scythe/pseuds/violet_scythe
Summary: When everyone you know sees you as nothing more than a body part. Nice hair with a nicer ass. You worry that the one you care for the most will look at you like all the rest-like you’re nothing more than a prime piece of meat. You fear that day, that moment, when their eyes fuzz over and they don’t see you anymore.





	Sum of My Parts

He knew how they spoke of him.

 

How they twittered behind their hands when they wanted to be polite, when they roared with laughter and bumped shoulders when they didn’t.

 

Villains, heroes, lovers, friends-

 

They broke him down into bits, holding them up in the candle light and admiring bits and pieces, like he was a puzzle, a broken toy to be passed around and put together at a whim.

 

How they oohed and awed as they looked and accidentally bumped up against him. Or when they just grabbed.

 

How he smiled, cocking his head to the side, making a light quip as he continued past. His tight laughter mingling with theirs as they continued onward.

 

It was supposed to be a _compliment_.

 

The way he moved, the deep timber of his voice, the flex of his muscles, the twitch and spill of his hair, how he smelled before, during, after, any time of the day.

 

A _compliment_.

 

As he felt their eyes, their hands, and their words drip across him.

 

Growing up he had found it flattering. He had enjoyed the attention and the way he could command a room and the people in it. It was the performer in him, the desire to take people out of themselves and give them a moment of wonder, of peace, of _flight_ -

 

He _had_ enjoyed it.

 

When he had been growing up it was just a smile, an admiring glance, and the understanding of appreciation.

 

Now it was different.

 

New generations, new rules, new boundaries.

 

The stares had turned into wandering hands, the smiles into whispers, and the wondering had turned into outright eye-fucking. _Verbal_ appreciation.

 

He knew who he was, wasn’t ashamed of how he lived his life or those he’d been with.

 

But it hurt sometimes.

 

When he felt himself bending, stuck in the moment between falling and the upswing.

It grated on him, wore him down.

 

He could tolerate it from almost everyone because they weren’t part of him, they were outside-but family. That was a different matter.

 

When he heard laughter from the den in the manor it had slid from high and carefree to raunchy in a moment.

 

“The way he moves _though_ -gods be praised.”

 

“And his _smell_. We should bottle that.”

 

“I’ve tried, believe me.”

 

Dick felt his eye twitch for a moment. Stephanie and Barbra. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

“Yeah yeah, that’s all well and good, but we all know what his real _ass_ ets are though.” Jason’s leering voice cut through the girls’ low laughter.

 

He heard swishing movements from behind the half closed door and knew someone was making a fanning movement with their hands.

 

“True that. Babs, is it as good in real life as it looks in those superhero tights?” Stephanie’s voice giggled again.

 

He could hear the smirk in her voice as she answered, “Better.”

 

More laughter convalesced through the room and Dick took another deep breath. And another. Trying to unclench his fists and find a smile, so he could stride in there like he hadn’t heard them chopping him up into pieces that they’d like to eat at the butcher’s shop. So he could look into their faces and try not to snarl and ask them if an ass was all he was to them.

 

“You are all a bunch of idiots.”

 

Dick froze for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking as he took in Damian’s cold voice.

 

Damian.

 

Damian was in there.

 

In that room. Where the others had been just discussing...his brain stuttered for a moment.

 

The boy who was so frustrating, frightening, difficult. The little assassin he’d taken in and saw grow into his own. Even at fifteen the boy had more guts and determination than heroes twice his size and triple his years.

 

The boy who had once stood at his side and no one else's, not only because he was a loose cannon that couldn’t be controlled, but because no one else had wanted him.

No one else had wanted to put faith in a 4’9” ball of rage and homicidal instincts.

 

He had.

 

And now that boy was making waves the world over. He wouldn’t be contained to one place or one people. But he always circled back. Back to Gotham.

 

And now he was sitting in a room surrounded by the people Dick considered family, talking, not about him, but just his parts.

 

And rage turned into dread. He didn’t want to hear his family talking about him like the others did, but if Damian-if Damian did.

 

He blinked quickly, face burning in shame.

 

He didn’t want Damian to _look_ at him like that. _Think_ of him like that.

 

His ears buzzed as he quickly picked up the conversation, but it was like it was miles away underwater.

 

“-don’t be a prude, batbrat. We all have our favourite part of our older _brother_.” Jason’s voice was amused, “Ask anyone.”

 

“Ass,” was the responding chorus from the others.

 

He heard the muffled slide of fabric as Jason moved, “What’s yours?”

 

Dick couldn’t breathe as Jason continued to goad Damian into answering. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to, didn’t want-

 

“His hands.”

 

Damian’s voice was as effective as a punch to the gut and twice as strong as Dick felt all the air escape his lungs.

 

His... _hands_?

 

His question was mirrored by Jason’s response.

 

He felt the air shift behind him as Damian continued to ignore the room’s demands for more elaboration.

 

Dick looked down before him and let his hands splay out.

 

They were squared, nut brown with close cut nails. Dark stains of oil and ink had seeped into his skin at places and they would never truly be clean. White lines crossed the backs of his hands as he turned them, noticing the notches and the thick callouses.

 

They were ordinary hands. Working hands.

Nothing was special or even graceful about them.

 

Out of everything he could of said, out of everything Dick had heard, no one had ever mentioned his hands.

 

Suddenly a grin split his face as he flexed his fingers and turned to the study doors.

 

He smiled as he entered and saw Jason tackle Damian, threatening to put him in a headlock, Damian giving him a bloody nose as he smashed his face with an elbow.

 

He smiled at Stephanie and Barbra as they watched the fight from the couch, popcorn passing between them.

 

He smiled as he joined them on the couch, arms stretched over the back.

 

Smiled as Damian glanced at him, those blue eyes burning and cold at the same time.

 

He smiled so much he thought his face would split and the world would shatter.

 

He didn’t stop smiling for a long time.

 

Even after the night was done, Stephanie and Jason passed out on the floor in front of the TV and Barbra long abandoned them for her room upstairs.

 

Even as he slowly pulled his hands through Damian’s dark hair as he slept, head in his lap like he had when he was ten and learning to trust him.

 

He smiled.

 

…

 

Years later as they lay sweaty and tangled from their lovemaking Dick heard Jason’s question in his head.

 

A dark ghost that hadn’t quite let go.

 

“ _We all have our favourite part of our older_ brother _. What’s yours?”_

 

He hummed as he felt Damian stir beside him. Damian always hated being dirty, couldn’t wait to be clean. First thing he did in the morning and last thing he did at night.

 

Dick felt a satisfied smile wander across his face. He liked making Damian dirty.

 

But the question rose again and the words slipped out, “So-you still think my hands are the best part?”

 

Damian froze halfway from the bed as if he’d been goosed and Dick watched him closely, the moment of languid contemplation gone.

 

The dark fears crept back into him, hooking their claws into his mind.

 

_Just parts. All I am to them-_ him _. Just parts._

 

Dick felt the silence and his lips thinned at the sight of Damian’s back. He sighed, “Nevermi-”

 

Damian was on him, above him. His hands pressing down on Dick’s clavicle, holding him down, not with weight, but his presence alone.

 

Dick looked upward into Damian’s face. Something he knew so well, loved so dearly. He saw the boy in the man that stared back at him.

 

“Grayson,” His voice was low and small, but no less commanding for it, “do you know why that was my answer?”

 

Dick felt his tongue dart over his lips, his words and fake bravo gone, slipping, “No, Damian. I don’t.”

 

He’d thought about it. A lot.

 

That night. Weeks later. Over the years.

 

Every moment when he felt weak or desperate. Whenever he noticed them wrapped around a wrench or picking up a coffee. In the mundane moments of his life. He’d wondered.

 

But, no, he’d never known.

 

Damian looked down at him, eyes like lanterns, hair unoiled and sliding forward in messy waves, “You are always touching, always soothing.” his voice turned wistful, “The way you patted my head, tweaked my hair, laced my boots-”

 

Dick felt the pickup in his heartbeat as Damian’s fingers smoothed across his skin,“The way you caught me. Or threw me.”

 

In the silence he heard his own voice and felt a small boot in the palm of his hand, the strain of his muscles as he called out _“Alley-oop!”_

 

They both smiled at the shared memory, minds syncing.

 

“You balanced me. Took me in, held me, held out your hand to me. Trusted me.” Damian’s eyes became somber as his small grin dropped from his face, “Your hands have always been _home_ , Grayson.”

 

Dick blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay as he pushed upwards, Damian’s body no longer imposing, but slack as he ran a hand down the side of his throat and lightly clasped the back of his neck. He brought their heads together, their breathes mingling in the dark.

 

Damian’s voice was whisper soft, almost too light for his ears to hear, “You are not a _thing_ , Grayson. You are _every_ thing.”

Dick felt the smile on his face as he brushed their lips together. As he leaned Damian back on the bed.

 

He felt it in his heartbeat as he kissed down the body he knew almost better than his own.

 

He smiled as he had Damian writhing and moaning, begging for more, faster, harder, _please-_

 

He continued to smile as he leaned back on the headboard, Damian’s head in his lap like so many times before, his hands lazily carding through the short locks.

 

He watched the window as the sun rose and Damian’s chest rose and fell, his dark skin stark against the blue sheets that covered their bed.

 

As he sat there he felt a peace he hadn’t in a long time, the dark claws that worried him banished back into their depths and knew he was more.

 

He was more than hair, a moment, or an amazing ass.

 

He was Robin. Nightwing. Richard. Dick.

 

He was _Grayson._

 

And that’s all he ever needed to be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't fit into DickDami week, so you can enjoy it early! 
> 
> It's just a short little drabble, there will be no sequel. 
> 
> If you liked it, please let me know by commenting or visiting me on tumblr. 
> 
> http://violetscythe.tumblr.com/


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